


Time's up..

by Surisun



Series: Too late for Stiles [1]
Category: 13 Reasons Why (TV), Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anxiety Disorder, Depressed Stiles, Dying Stiles, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt Stiles, References to Depression, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-05
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-12-11 12:40:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11714592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Surisun/pseuds/Surisun
Summary: Nothing worth fighting for anymore , no one care and the pain inside his soul is getting so much worse.....................Or my inspired version of 13 reasons why ,only it's Stiles ..





	Time's up..

**Author's Note:**

> Warning of suicide! 
> 
> I am not trying to encourage suicide or anything , I don't even approve that suicide can really solve anything, please if you have such ideas of hurting yourself, talk to some one , there is always a way to fix whatever you think can't be fixed, this story is just for fun..

He smiles and talks for hours and hours with everyone , he even cracks a silly jock few times, perfectly blending with the background like he always does , he speaks the words they want to hear, mending their broken hearts and fixing their other problems skillfully like a magician, but just like always, they take it for granted, they take him for granted.

No body notices the little sigh he let's out from time to time or the way his laugh doesn't really reach his eyes . No one asks him about his own problems or if he is still having nightmares , and if they notice how tired and pale he looks no one brings it up. 

He tries to ignore his unimportance one more time, after all it is not something new, he learned he is not anyone's priority long time ago.

Time passes in a blur..

He is the last one standing in Derek's living room after some movie credit's rolled and everyone left ,trying to cover how he keeps fidgeting with nervousness, something in the back of his mind tells him not to leave ,that once he will be alone something bad is going to happen. A fluttery feeling crosses through him so he gulps another glass of water in a naive attempt to drown the floating panic .

It doesn't work. 

The sudden empty space and the complete silence only makes his emotions pop out in high definition, the quiet darkness inside him starts to grow and grow till it is about to swallow him , all his distracting efforts are failing miserably to tone it down .

Derek appears from the kitchen with a cup of tea in his hand, looking at him indifferently, probably bored that the human is lurking behind as usual .  
Stiles looks at him and swallows hard but somehow, the ware wolf misses the loud heartbeats and the pungent scent of anxiety radiating from the human despite his suprior senses.  
Sometime later in that very particular night ,however ,he is going to smash the bathroom's mirror furiously because he didn't catch it , he will live long life of regret and guilt remembering the night he was standing there near Stiles doing nothing, but right now, in this moment he is bless fully oblivious to anything but his steaming cup of tea and the book that is waiting for him on the night stand near his bed.  
So he asks Stiles to leave because it's already too late , and the human obays him without a word, not even his usual raspy " night, Derek" that he usually says when he leaves the ware wolf's house every day.

Derek doesn't even notice. 

Stiles drives, The road to home is dark and empty , no cars and no people, still he drives slowly in one more attempt to delay the inevitable .His house ,however, comes to view in less than 30 minutes ,and he knows once he sees the familiar building that it is already over.  
The void inside him gets full control again, leading the way to the harshly lit bathroom in the end of the hallway. He walks in ,takes out a brand new razor from the medicine cabinet and unwraps it slowly before putting it near the bathtub.  
He goes back to his room then and takes out his hoodei, too keen that it doesn't get ruined by blood , but then he notices the white shirt he is wearing beneath it and decides that cleaning it is going to be a bitch to his dad, so he loses the shirt too and put on an old ratty flannel shirt from the back of his closet.  
He sits on his desk ,takes out a paper and a pen and starts writing.  
It takes him four times to organise the words in a way that he thinks won't break his dad's heart so much, or that what he hopes any way, then he makes sure to sign it by  
" I love you dad"

He folds it and places it carefully on the top of his books.

A rapid glance at his room reveals on old family picture that had fallen behind the night stand since god knows when. He picks it up with gentle tenderness and wipes away the thin layer of dust, then places it near the folded message.  
He swaps the room again , hoping for little extra time to say his goodbyes, but the void inside his soul is getting agitated with impatience, the voices in his head are not tolerating the useless delay any more, he knows that he had a lot of time before and time honestly doesn't change anything anyway, so he finally pushes himself up and walks back to the bathroom.

Once inside, he closes the door behind him then opens the medical cabinet again to dry swallows 4 pills of the strong sedative which his psychiatrist had prescribed it for his severe insomnia, the recommended dose is 1pill but he needs to make sure he is going to drift fast enough for not to feel the pain for too long.  
Once laying down in the bathtub, he opens the tap and allow the water to serround his supine body, the steady voice of water is the exact opposite of his panicking heart beats but he assures himself that everything will be okay soon.

He holds the blade by sweaty trembling fingers , his breath starts to contract with logical fear but he tries so hard to calm it down , the last thing he needs is to have a panic attack and messes every thing up.  
He presses hard and deep against the blue vein in his wrest , not really registering anything but the sudden relief that overtakes him.

The darkness, void and the screaming voices are all pushed down behind the haziness that wrap his mind, so he shifts the blade to repeat the same action with his other hand , the cuts are little bit shallow this time, maybe either the blood loss , the sedative or the relaxing sensation that courses through him is making his hand weak to give a good press, but he decides that it is not a big deal as the cuts still bleeds profusely enough for him to just lean his head back , lazily pushing both his arms under water and watch in fascination as it turns pink .

Time turns it to a foreign concept to his hazy mind as every thing slow down in to nothing, his last conscious memory is for someone calling his name, and knocking hard on the door.  
But it does not matter now, they were already too late.  
..............................


End file.
